


can you save my heavy dirt soul?

by streetlight_skeletons



Series: Voices [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Panic Attack, Worried!Steve, hurt!bucky, voices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:05:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3989287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/streetlight_skeletons/pseuds/streetlight_skeletons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky can't breathe and they won't shut up</p>
            </blockquote>





	can you save my heavy dirt soul?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first work on here, and the first in quite a long time actually.

It had been a good night so far.

After he had come back from serious agent-y stuff Steve ordered a Chinese and they sat in the living room watching reruns of Pimp My Ride. The twenty first century still boggles Bucky, but he has to admit that there are perks.

For one, Steve's here.

After they had wiped the plates clean, (super-sized soldiers equals super-sized stomachs), Bucky had wanted some alone-time, and Steve, forever understanding, had left him be.

He goes to his room and slumps on the bed - not that he ever sleeps in it, the floor is more familiar to him ( _it's what he deserves_ ) - before picking at the dirt in between the gaps in his metal arm.

The unnatural part of him, the _monstrosity_.

It wasn't long time ago that he used to do this, but he didn't wipe away dirt or grime. It was blood and pieces of flesh ( _not his, never his. he wishes it was his, they don't deserve it_ ) and it was always a routine to him. Bucky liked routine back then, it kept him in line, stopped him from being distracted from the mission. Find, Kill, Rinse, Repeat.

But now he hates routine, he likes spontaneous moments. It's keeps him on his toes, distracts him from the echoing, lingering screams and the clanging sound his arm would make when they scratched it in their haste to get away. Not that they ever did.

_he was glad when they wiped his memory after those_

Bucky lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and suddenly he can't get one back in.

_just like that girl that he choked in 1974_

He panics, eyes going wide as he drops his hand from his arm. His stomach seems to follow, as he feels a sudden overwhelming fear. He's jumpy and twitchy and he doesn't know what to do because he hasn't had one of these in _ages_.

_he deserves this_

He slips off the bed gracelessly, staring straight ahead listlessly and he shivers when his metallic arm hits the wall with a ringing clang.

_clang, bang, ring, clink_

He must have been loud, because one minute, Bucky's alone, but the next Steve is there, looking pale but determined, kneeling beside Bucky. But it can't have been one minute, because it now says 22:56 on the blinking clock behind Steve's head.

Wasn't it just 22:32?

_he's losing his memory, he's losing his mind_

"Hey, we're breathing a bit fast there, do you think we can bring that down a bit?" Steve asks, sounding like he's underwater.

Dear Lord, Bucky hopes he's not drowning.

_bucky feels like he is_

Wait, breathing too fast? But Bucky's not breathing at all.

Right?

Someone's holding his hands now. He only knows that because he sees it happen, his sense of touch doesn't catch up until a few seconds later.

"Jesus, Buck, you're freezing" Steve mumbles, eyebrows furrowed in worry and it's getting harder and harder to hear anything that he's saying. His ears must be filled with cotton buds.

_he's cold, he's cold and he's falling from a train and there's cold beneath him and there's cold in his soul and-_

It's not long before he starts shaking like a leaf, unable to keep still. Bucky thinks Steve says "fuck" by reading his lips, and he wishes he could hear it, because it's rare and beautiful when Steve swears.

Instead, all he hears is a high pitched, hollow ringing sound and white noise. He doesn't like it.

It reminds him of the electric, the revving of the motor and the excruciating pain. And if he wasn't breathing before, he's definitely isn't now.

_-and someone is telling him to shut up but he's not speaking and someone is holding him down but he's not moving_

"Fuck, shit, fuck, shit, fuck-" Steve is saying, his hands waving about Bucky, near him but too scared to touch in case he breaks. It doesn't matter, Bucky thinks sluggishly, he's already broken to pieces.

_shattered and glued back together, over and over, duct tape and safety pins keeping the animal inside and it can't escape, not again_

A blanket is placed around his shoulders and he curls inside slowly, trying to make himself small. He tries to hide but his mind catches up with him and someone's screaming.

_not for the first time_

It's him. It's him, he's screaming at the top of his lungs and Steve's gripping onto his shoulders hard enough to dislocate them. He's trying to shout over him, and Bucky appreciates the effort but between the cries and shrieks in his head and the own coming out of his own mouth, it's not really helping.

Steve hasn't got a hope in Hell in reaching him.

Hope. Hell.

Bucky has long since lost faith in one and started living the other.

* * *

It's not until later that Bucky wakes up in his own bed, tucked under the covers securely and his skin starts to crawl with unseen shadows in the dark. He's too enclosed but too vulnerable at the same time, the aching in his bones and the fatigue dragging his limbs making him slow and weak.

He tumbles off the bed, kicking off the duvet frantically when it follows and crawls to the corner where he normally sleeps, just before the door slams open.

Steve's tense, broad-shouldered silhouette fills up the doorway, and when he turns on the lights, he almost breaks the light switch by how hard he hits it. He's pale, eyes wide and the bags under his eyes look like he's been punched in the face repeatedly. By the Hulk.

Bucky feels even worse and curls up tighter, hugging his knees to his chest (he only uses his flesh and blood arm)

 _Sticks and stones make up your bones_ , the voice whispers and Bucky groans, hitting his head against the wall.

Steve's eyes snap to him and he rushes over, kneeling beside him once again. "Buck?" he asks worriedly, "are you okay?"

Bucky grins weakly and the voice grins back. "I'm fine"

_the people who are six feet under because of you aren't 'fine'_

* * *

When Steve goes back to his room after many reassurances, dragging his feet and a twinkle in his eye, Bucky almost feels bad for lying.

But he spares all the truth for the voice in his head.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or kudo if you liked it!


End file.
